


erythrophobia

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Crack in a Neatly Wrapped Little Package, Gen, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: n.erythrophobia - an abnormal fear of the color red.
Relationships: Grace Van Pelt & Wayne Rigsby & Kimball Cho
Kudos: 25





	erythrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I own nothing and I live for crack writing. Phobias are fun.

“I think I’ve found the crime scene that’s going to haunt my dreams forever,” Rigsby says as he follows Grace and Cho into the SUV. “I’m going to close my eyes tonight, and instead of seeing nothing, I’m going to see giant man-eating spiders.”

From the driver’s seat, Cho responds, “fear killed her, not the arachnids.” Still, Rigsby can’t help but shudder. He’s never been afraid of spiders, but the idea of  _ dying  _ – surrounded by them – is not a death he’d wish on anyone, aside from  _ maybe  _ Red John and all of his friends.

“It’s still a horrible way to go,” Grace admits from the passenger seat as she buckles her seat belt. Rigsby leans forward and presses his hand to Grace’s shoulder. She offers him a small smile in turn. “Whoever killed her must have hated her.” Nobody says anything until Grace speaks again. “Could you imagine her last thoughts?”

“ _ Get these off me _ ,” Cho replies wryly, and Grace fixes him with a stare.

“She must have been terrified.”

“It’s not like any of our other victims haven’t been terrified to die either,” Rigsby points out. “Aside from Red John’s friends, who would happily impale themselves on his alter, I can’t imagine anyone not being terrified to die.” He glances upwards. Lisbon had said she was taking Jane to question Emma Stanton’s parents, who would probably be just as horrified as Grace over the state of their daughter’s body. With a thought, Rigsby glances at Cho. “Think Red John has any fears?”

Cho nods. “More than 19 million people have a specific phobia in America. Assuming Red John’s American, he’s afraid of something.” Rigsby settles back against his seat and thinks. Red John’s obviously not afraid of blood or the color red. So, could the serial killer be frightened of spiders? Flying monkeys? Technicolored movies?

Or something far more ironic, like death?

Rigsby pulls out his phone and googles  _ phobias _ . “Maybe he’s got dikephobia, a fear of justice.” From the rear-view mirror, he watches Grace roll her eyes. “Or hadephobia, fear of hell.” Although Rigsby doubts either are real fears for Red John – sometimes, it’s just amusing to get a rise out of Grace. “I guess one of us needs to dress up as a devil at the next Red John crime scene.”

“Wayne!” Grace chastises. He’s pretty sure he almost sees Cho smile. “We are  _ not  _ doing that!” He supposes it  _ would  _ make a pretty lousy headline;  _ CBI agents capture serial killer, Red John, thanks to the devil _ . There’s also the fact that Lisbon would probably sooner join a cult than greenlight them dressing up as the devil to lure Red John out.

“Jane would do it,” Cho points out, and Rigsby fights the urge to respond,  _ of course, he would _ . Rigsby has no doubts that if he knew what kept Red John up at night, Jane would be the first to use it against the serial killer.

“And Lisbon would kill him,” Grace argues without hesitation. None of them argue.

Rigsby glances down at his phone again. “Okay. If we’re not allowing the devil at a Red John crime scene, what about a cat?”

“Are you suggesting that Red John would be afraid of cats?”

“Anything’s possible,” Rigsby tells them, and he watches Cho reluctantly nod. “And if we’re on the fence about cats, because of how they probably already work for Red John, how about we just go find some puppets?” Grace still doesn’t look amused at his suggestion, and he can’t help but throw her a smile. “We’ll puppeteer Red John to his new home six-feet under while charging admission to do so.”

Cho says nothing.

“I don’t think that’s how this works,” Grace replies quietly, before she adds, “now I can’t stop picturing us, as a set of puppets, chasing after Red John. Thanks a lot, Wayne.”

“It’s still better than thinking about a bunch of eight-legged spiders crawling up and down Emma Stanton’s body.”

Even Grace can’t argue with that one.


End file.
